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Tuesday, December 31, 2013

Beckett Taylor is a murderer.
His calling, his craft are destruction and intimidation—whether he wants it
that way now or not. He left Poughkeepsie to keep his brothers safe, to keep
Eve safe. Set up with happy lives to live, they’re better off without him,
right?

But all his willpower crumbles when he hears his brother Blake’s frantic voice
on the phone. An unknown enemy has moved in on his old territory, and Livia’s
been taken. In an instant, Beckett knows it will take an attack only he and Eve
can execute to bring her back. All his self-imposed embargoes are torn to
shreds, perhaps along with the new man he’s struggled to become.

“Brother, call Eve. I’ll be there soon.”

In this emotional and
action-packed sequel to Poughkeepsie, Debra Anastasia conjures a tale of love
at its most raw and ragged. With Beckett and Eve, how could we expect anything
less? But even when it’s messy, not magical, true love perseveres. Real love
finds a way—for better or for worse until death does part.

Debra Anastasia is busy, just
like every other mom. There's dinner, the dogs, the two kids, the two
kids, and her ongoing battle with...ahem... digestive issues, which combined
with her adolescent boy sense of humor makes for colorful and sometimes
cringe-worthy social media updates. Her first love and crowning achievement is
her thriving career as the weirdest mom on the block.

Her writing
started a decent handful of years ago when--along with the animals and humans
in her house--the voices of characters started whispering stories in Debra's
ear. Insomnia was the gateway to plots that wouldn't give up, wouldn't let go.
Now they stalk her everywhere. Halfway through making lunches, a twist takes
hold and--fingers full of peanut butter--she finds somewhere, anywhere to write
it down.

She's eternally grateful to
Omnific Publishing, which has now published four of her books: two in the
Seraphim Series and two in the Poughkeepsie Brotherhood Series, as well as her
novella, Late Night with Andres. That one is special because 100% of the
proceeds go to breast cancer research. (So go get it right now, please!) She
also very much appreciates her open-minded readers, who embrace everything she
has to offer, with a focus on anti-heroes and bathroom humor.

Debra lives in Maryland with
her family. You can find her at DebraAnastasia.com and on Twitter
@Debra_Anastasia. But be prepared.

Abandoned by a mother who chose drugs over her, Jamie Charles barely got
out of her own addiction alive. Now, she pours her pain into her art while
pouring drinks at a local bar. To Jamie, love is a four-letter word—until she
meets Miles, a charming ad exec with piercing blue eyes who makes no secret
about his desire for her.

Miles Copeland has family demons of his own, but his unhappy upbringing drove
him toward hard work and success. He's determined to win Jamie over, and when
he finally does, it's worth every moment he spent waiting. But when he
confesses that he's falling for her, she panics. Sex is one thing, but love
requires more than she can give.

Jamie can't deny her feelings, but she's haunted by her past. Miles knows his
heart, but Jamie's lingering doubts have him questioning their future. It might
take the threat of losing him forever for her to realize that refusing to let
love in is the worst mistake of all.

Jamie
looked at the man who’d taken a seat at the bar. He wasn’t one of the usuals.
She’d never seen him before. But he was the type. Tahlia’s wasn’t a dive bar,
like the ones she’d worked at in the past. It was an upscale bar and grille
that catered to affluent tastemakers. In fact, the only reason they’d given her
a shot, with her jet-black hair, penchant for black leather, tattooed arms and
nose piercing was because Tahlia Vega was a friend of a friend of Ellie’s.
She’d landed the job because she was good.

The
man flashing his brilliant white teeth at her definitely fit the bill.
Ridiculously gorgeous—like every line of his face had been precisely chiseled
from stone by Michelangelo himself. A nose befitting a Greek god. A faint
moustache was perched above his upper lip and a barely there beard crawled its
way along a jawline with just enough of a pleasing curve to prevent it from
being described as square. His hair—a sandy brown just a shade or two shy of
venturing into blondiewood—was slicked down on the sides, with the top longer
in a fairly conservative faux hawk. But those eyes…they were the color of
pristine Caribbean waters. So blue they made a girl want to get naked and go
for a swim in them. He was wearing a navy linen blazer with a crisp white shirt
beneath it. The large face of the stainless steel TAG Heuer on his wrist nearly
matched the color of those eyes.

Rich, gorgeous and probably spoiled. The only thing missing was the rail-thin model-type
hanging on his arm. He was definitely the Tahlia’stype.
He just wasn’t hers.

“Everything’s
great,” she said to him. “I was just thinking about…I was making sure we had
enough lemons, that’s all. Can I get you something?”

“You
take your citrus inventory very seriously, I see.” An animated smile spread
across his handsome face, and his eyes flickered with amusement as they
followed her movement. “Well, I for one appreciate your dedication.”

She
bit her lip and wiped the counter with a rag. If she’d still been working at
Chuck’s Biker Bar, she’d have told this guy to go fuck himself. But at
Tahlia’s, the customers were far more delicate. They didn’t appreciate being
cursed out by the help. “If I can get you anything, let me know.” She turned to
walk away.

“Wait.
Actually, I would like something. I’d love a Satan’s Whiskers. It’s—”

“One
ounce gin, one ounce orange juice, half an ounce of dry vermouth, sweet vermouth
and Grand Marnier, a dash of bitters and a twist of orange peel. Or would you
prefer it curled rather than straight?” Teeth clenched, she pressed her lips
into a hard smile. Maybe she didn’t look like the dainty little bartenders he
was used to, but she knew her shit.

“I
apologize.” He ran his hands through his spiked crown, giving his hair a
tousled, just-tumbled-out-of-bed-and-I-wasn’t-alone look. “I didn’t mean to
imply that—”

“Forget
it. Anything else?”

“You
guys serve food, too, right?”

“Absolutely,
would you care for a table? I can—”

“Actually,
I’d like to eat right here at the bar, if that’s okay—” he leaned in closer and
squinted at her name tag, “—Jamie. I think I’d prefer your company to eating
alone.”

Don’t do me any favors, buddy. She surveyed the man, struck by how his blue eyes
danced when he smiled at her. Her knees wobbled slightly. She was glad he
couldn’t see them.

“If
that’s what you’d like.” She reached behind her and handed him a bar menu.
“Just let me know when you’re ready. Would you like your drink now or with your
meal?”

“With
my meal, please. Until then, how about a glass of water? I’ll take it with one
of those lemons.” His devilish smile widened.

Was
he making fun of her, or just trying to piss her off? If it was the latter, it
was working. “Coming right up.” She forced the words through a smile so fake
it’d give Barbie a run for her money. She grabbed a glass, dumped in a scoop of
ice, filled it with water then put a lemon on the side. “Here you go. Just call
me when you’re ready.”

“Sure
thing.” He pulled out his phone. “But I’ll need your number first.”

The
overwhelming desire to punch the dude in the face subsided the moment she saw
that big, stupid grin. He was a harmless flirt. She could deal with that, no
problem. “Ha-ha.” Her face remained expressionless as she tucked the rag into
her apron.

He
laughed. “Okay, that was pretty corny. I apologize. I’m usually far more clever
than this, but today…I got nothing.”

“Rough
day, huh?” She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow.

“Touché.
And yes, it has been a challenging day.” Lifting his chin slightly, he stroked
his beard, regarding her with amusement. “But things are beginning to look up.”

Leaning
against the bar, she shifted her weight as she surveyed his expensive haircut
and clothing. She’d bet anything he was wearing a pair of overpriced loafers
the kind of guys she preferred had never even heard of, and that he drove an
“entitlement” car. If she talked to him for a few more minutes she’d be able to
determine whether he drove a Beamer, Benz or Bentley and could make a
reasonably accurate guess as to the color.

The
guy might be goofy and slightly aggravating, but he had the potential to be a
good tipper. No matter how irritated she was, she knew better than to fuck that
up. Jamie took a deep breath and gave him a dead-eyed smile that skirted
civility without encouraging further interaction. “Maybe you’ll feel better if
you tell me about it,” she said. “After all, isn’t that why you came here?”

“Hmm…I’ll
bet you get that all the time. Rich bozos sitting here whining about their
wives, mistresses and tennis elbow.”

She
choked back the laugh rising in her chest before it could escape her lips.
Covering her mouth, she cleared her throat and managed a straight face. “My
customers arenotbozos.”

“How
politically correct of you to say so.” He tapped the bar lightly with his index
finger. “But I have an idea. How about we turn the tables tonight? Tonight, why
don’t you tell me what’s bothering you?”

This
guy was really beginning to bug her. Since when did a complete stranger give a
damn about what was bothering her? Where was this guy from anyway, Mayberry?

A
regular came in and sat at the bar. She was glad for the distraction. “I’ll be
right with you, Pete,” she told him before turning back to the man who’d
managed to get under her skin. “Excuse me—”

She
cleared her throat, her jaw tight. “I’ll be back to check on your order in a
few…Miles.”

About the Author:

Reese Ryan
writes sexy, contemporary romance featuring a multicultural cast of flawed, but
lovable characters. She
secretly enjoys torturing her heroines with family and career drama, reformed
bad boys, revealed secrets, and the occasional identity crisis, but always
rewards them with supportive girlfriends and a happily ever after.

An avid reader, Reese's to-be-read stack resembles a small skyscraper. She
adores brilliant singer/songwriters, and has an incurable addiction to musicals
and movie soundtracks. She is a lifelong Midwesterner currently residing in
Central North Carolina with her husband and young adult son who tolerate her
propensity to sing and dance badly.